Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [107]
She leaned closer. “They’re old,” she said.
“Yeah. These letters are from last year.”
“Is that important?”
“Maybe,” he said, placing the papers in the envelope, folding the clasp, and standing.
“That’s it?” she asked.
“That’s it.”
“I like being here with you, Phil,” she said. “For some reason the house isn’t as forbidding as it’s been.”
“It’ll be a long time before you’ll be comfortable here, Polly.”
“This man they think killed my mother. Why do they think he did it?”
“Some forensic evidence,” Rotondi said. “They found his fingerprint on a glass in the kitchen, and a hair in the bathroom belonging to an African American.”
“He’s black?”
“Yes.”
“Why was his fingerprint here? Was he a friend of Mom’s?”
“No. He says he’d never met her before, and that he’d never set foot in the house.”
“How can that be if his fingerprints and hair were here?”
“I’ll explain on the way back. Call a cab.”
• • •
Senator Simmons’s receptionist told Neil that the senator had just been called into an important last-minute meeting, and she didn’t know how long he’d be.
“Maybe I’d better leave and—”
The door to the inner office was flung open and the senator stood in the doorway.
“Hi, Dad.”
His father turned and disappeared back into the office. Neil followed.
“Close the door,” Simmons said.
Neil did as instructed. He handed the tan briefcase to his father, who dropped it to the floor behind his desk.
“What’s new with the memorial service?” he asked as he sank into his large, leather swivel chair. He looked exhausted to Neil, puffy dark circles defining his eyes, his developing jowls more pronounced.
“Everything is in order.”
“Good.”
“Dad, I have to talk to you about something.”
The senator looked up at a wall clock. “I have a meeting to get to in five minutes, Neil. Make it quick.”
Neil collected his thoughts. He hadn’t expected to have only a limited time to say what was on his mind. “When I went to the house today to pick up those papers for you, Aunt Marlene was there.”
“What was she doing there?”
Neil made a false start.
“Get to it, Neil.”
“She was in your bedroom pretending to be Mom.”
Simmons opened his mouth to say something but closed it before words escaped. Finally, he said, “That’s ridiculous.”
“I know it sounds that way, Dad, but I swear that’s what happened. She was at Mom’s dressing table wearing one of her robes, the pink one, and—”
“What did she say?”
Neil hesitated. “She said she wanted to look nice for you when you came home.”
Simmons’s sigh was deep and prolonged.
“She’s insane, Dad. Polly and I went to her condo after I told Polly about it. Marlene acted as though she’d never been at the house.”
The senator’s brow became deeply furrowed, his lips pressed tightly together.
“Do you understand what this means, Dad? Aunt Marlene killed Mom.”
Simmons said nothing.
“There’s no other conclusion to come to. In her sick mind, she killed Mom so she could take her place. She’s always been jealous of Mom, always thought she was the one who should be married to you.”
“Who have you told about this, Neil, aside from Polly?”
“Phil.”
“Why did you tell him?”
“Polly wanted his advice before we did anything. He came to the hotel and met with us.”
“I’ll talk to Phil.”
“All right, but I don’t know why you’d bother. He didn’t think it was a big deal. Frankly, I don’t understand why everything has to be run past him.”
Simmons gave another look at the clock. “I have to leave. Keep this between us, Neil. I mean that.”
He got up, took his suit jacket from an antique clothes rack, slipped it on, glanced at himself in a full-length mirror, and walked to the door.
“Dad.”
The senator stopped. “What?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Another time, Neil.”
“Were you and Mom going to get a divorce?”
Simmons looked down at his shoe tops, then up at his son. “It really doesn’t matter anymore, does it, Neil?”
Alone, Neil stared straight ahead, his mind a blank. He’d wanted to ask his father about the material his mother had claimed to have in her possession that would be destructive to his Senate career,